


this don’t even feel like falling

by duva, fictionalcandie



Series: the superfruit queen bey collection [2]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Awkwardness, Epiphanies, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Realization, Self-Denial, Tour Bus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 02:32:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5565904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duva/pseuds/duva, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalcandie/pseuds/fictionalcandie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things Scott thinks he knows, and things everyone else knows they think. These things are not the same—and when they all get dragged into the light, Scott has to face an uncomfortable truth. Somehow, it ends up being <em>Mitch</em> who’s in for a rude awakening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this don’t even feel like falling

**Author's Note:**

> We started writing this a week and a half ago. As you can see, we didn't exactly... stop writing. So many words! Title is from _Halo_ by Beyoncé. Minor warning for a character having a panic attack.
> 
> fictionalcandie's notes: All blame for the conception of this fic goes to duva. All I did was write, uh, a few words to go with it. Everybody shout out to her for doing real actual writing for the first time in years, though!! So proud of her. ♥
> 
> duva's notes: "A few words" = 98% of this including all the good bits, because fictionalcandie is the best and does stuff like this for me despite not even really being in this fandom. <3 Super fun to write and I love what we ended up with. (Oh yeah and while this is fiction and not at all reality? If you're here because you googled yourself or someone you know, please do us all a favour and back away slowly.)

“Really, Scott, is it _necessary_ to—”

Kirstie cuts herself off at the knock on Scott’s hotel room door.

“What?” Scott asks.

She shakes her head, and waves toward the door. Frowning a little, Scott goes to answer it. He’s pretty sure he knows who it is, at least, though he’s got _no_ idea what she was gonna to say. He was just telling her about where Mitch is, it’s not like he was talking about something complicated and irrelevant like—well, like how to run for political office, or how to play the stock market, or bingo strategy at a senior’s center.

He gets the door open, and it’s exactly who Scott thought it would be, on the other side.

“Hey, sorry, I was on the phone,” Kevin says, coming in and taking the door out of Scott’s hands to shut it behind himself so Scott doesn’t have to. “Didn’t see your text until just a minute ago. Sup?”

Scott says, “I just thought we should hang out! The three of us!”

Kevin blinks. He looks around, obviously spots Kirstie on the bed, but then he—keeps looking? It confuses Scott, for all five seconds it takes before Kevin asks, “Mitch isn’t here?”

He sounds surprised. Then a beat later he looks _more_ surprised, somehow, even though Scott hasn’t answered yet. Kevin’s not even looking at Scott, though, he’s looking past him, and his eyes have gone a little wide.

Scott turns, trying to see what’s caught Kevin’s attention and is making him look like that, but all he sees is Kirstie, sitting on the bed, where she was when he went to answer the door. She’s reaching up to fix her hair, even; perfectly normal.

“What?” Scott asks, looking back at Kevin.

“Uh,” Kevin says, eyes still wide. He shrugs, short and awkward. “Nothing?”

Scott narrows his eyes. “No, you definitely—”

“Mitch is on a date,” Kirstie says, her voice coming blunt and without inflection from behind Scott.

“Oh,” says Kevin.

“A _second_ date,” Kirstie says, in the same voice.

“ _Oh_ ,” Kevin says. He winces.

“So I thought we could hang out,” Scott cuts in, making his voice cheerful even though for some reason that also makes it come out too-loud for the room. Not like it’s the first time that’s ever happened. “The three of us!”

Kevin looks past him again, like he’s meeting Kirstie’s eyes. “Just—the three of us? What about—”

“Esther told me earlier that she and Avi have a cousin who lives here in San Fran, or something,” Kirstie says, before Scott can. “So they escaped to meet up with her.”

“Oh,” Kevin says, and really, he knows more words than that, he should use some of them. He sighs. “Fun.”

It’s not the _best_ word he could have picked, but whatever, Scott’s just glad it’s not ‘oh’ by itself again. He’d be gladder, if Kevin actually sounded like he meant it. Obviously he sounded like he wanted to _sound_ like he meant it, but—Kevin is a terrible liar, okay, and Scott is not an idiot.

“You don’t think we’re fun?” Scott asks. He’s aiming for teasing. He’s totally fun, see, he’ll even prove it.

Behind him, Kirstie groans.

“Usually, sure,” Kevin says, looking like he’s walking into a trap and knows it. “But, uh.”

“But, what?” Scott asks.

There’s a pause, then Kevin shakes his head. “Nothing, man,” he says. “What’re we doing, then?”

“You mean other than complaining about how Mitch shouldn’t be on this date?” Kirstie mutters. It’s so quiet that Scott barely catches it, but he does.

“What?” he says, whirling to face her.

“What, yourself. You were the one just saying—”

“I didn’t say _that_ ,” Scott protests, and this time he’s too-loud on purpose. He _hadn’t_ said that, and he’d been _proud_ of himself for it.

Not that Scott cares, of course. It’s just that this guy really is _so_ not good enough for Mitchy.

“If you say so,” Kirstie says, shaking her head.

“If you didn’t have anything planned,” Kevin says, brightly, while Scott’s trying to decide what to say to prove to Kirstie that she’s way off base. “We could watch a movie?”

“Sure,” Kirstie replies.

So, whatever. This is why Scott invited them over, not to argue with Kirstie. He can let it go. “Okay,” he says. “Lemme just text Mitch one more time, okay?”

He hears Kirstie sigh, as he’s pulling out his phone, but Kevin just says, “Sure thing. Kit and I’ll pick, while you do that.”

Kirstie’s right by the nightstand with the remotes on it, and she’s got the on-demand menu pulled up on the tv by the time he’s locking his phone screen again.

“We’re not watching a romcom,” she declares, skipping past that category.

“You like romcoms, though,” Scott says. He settles on the bed next to her, leaves the other side for Kevin.

Kirstie makes a sound somewhere between a snicker and a scoff. “Not tonight, I don’t.”

“I want explosions,” Kevin says, sitting down too. “Do they have anything with explosions?”

“Or puppies,” Scott suggests.

“Yes,” says Kevin. A pause. “But not together.”

“No exploding puppies, got it,” Kirstie says, clicking into _Action & Adventure_.

“Unless it was a secret agent puppy, who was _making_ things explo—”

“No,” Kirstie says, elbowing his side.

“But—”

“Look, they have Top Gun,” Kevin exclaims.

Scott follows his pointing finger, and yes, _Top Gun_ is one of the available choices.

“Kirstie,” he says.

She’s already clicking through the confirm selection pop-ups. “Way ahead of you.”

They don’t talk a lot through most of the movie—except the parts you _have_ to comment on, like Val Kilmer in navy dress whites—and it’s nice. Really nice. It would be nicer if Mitch was there, or would text him back, but, it’s still nice.

“ _Stop_ it already,” Kirstie groans, as the credits are starting.

Scott looks up from his phone, which is refusing to display a ‘new messages’ notification. “Uh. You’re the one with the remote?”

“Not _that_ ,” Kirstie says, at the same time Kevin says, “Dude, your phone. You’ve got it out, _again_.”

The frown Scott hadn’t realized was already on his face deepens, a little, before he manages to wipe it away. “But, I was just—”

“Checking to see if Mitch said anything,” Kirstie finishes. “We _know_.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll still love you best, no matter how his date goes,” Kevin says, and _how he says it_.

Kevin doesn’t sound like he’s joking. At all.

“Uh,” Scott says, a little flustered suddenly and not sure why. It makes him feel—grumpy. Yes, that’s what it makes him feel. He takes a deep breath, pushing it aside and throwing on a smile because clearly, Kevin must be kidding, even though he doesn’t look like it. “Did you forget that Mitch isn’t _actually_ , you know, _mine_? I don’t care if he dates other people.”

“Yeah, okay, Mr. Green-Eyed Monster,” Kirstie mutters.

It takes a moment for the meaning of her words to register with Scott, but when it does, he stops, and scrunches his face up. “What,” he says, feeling even grumpier than he had a moment ago and letting the smile slip off his face. “Are you impersonating Alex now, or something?”

Kirstie stares back at him, and of all things, she looks confused. “Excuse me, _what_?” she demands.

Scott pulls his own confused face. “What do you mean, what.”

“What does your _ex-boyfriend_ have to do with this?” Kirstie asks.

“Just, that’s exactly what _he_ said, back when Mitch was dating—Whatsit Stupidface—which was _obvi_ total BS because why would I be _jealous_?”

Kirstie stares at him some more. So does Kevin.

“Okay, seriously, _what_?” Scott snaps. He’s starting to feel properly annoyed, now, because they should know better than to joke about this. Sure, Scott is totally over Alex, but it’s not exactly a joking matter either, and they’re looking at him like he’s the crazy one here—which, wow bad taste.

“Are you listening to yourself right now?” Kirstie asks, a little wonderingly.

“Are _you_?” Scott doesn’t really feel like laughing, but he forces one out, just to show how absurd they’re both being. Neither of them look like they’re buying any of it, so he adds, “Look, I just don’t think he’s the right guy for Mitch. And obviously I was right _that_ time, wasn’t I.”

“Uh-huh,” says Kevin. He looks the farthest thing from convinced. “Sure.”

“Why _would_ I be jealous?” Scott asks, definitely feeling annoyed. There’s no ‘starting to’ anymore, it’s just annoyance now. “I just want him to be happy, that’s all.”

“Yeah, happy. More like happy with _you_.”

“You—What?” Scott sputters, blinking several times one after the other. “I don’t. _What_?” This is—he’s confused, okay. He wasn’t prepared for, there’s no way _to_ be prepared for a sudden accusation like this coming out of thin air and making zero sense. “What? No. What?”

“Scott, you _never_ think anyone is good enough for him,” Kirstie says. “Every time, you say it’s the wrong guy.”

She’s using her gentle, rational tone, which usually she only brings out for Scott when he’s had too many venti triple shots and thinks it’d be a good idea to go to Chipotle for the fourth time in two days. On her other side, Kevin is nodding along, looking—reasonable and, and _calm_.

Scott’s starting to get the sinking feeling they are actually not joking. Neither of them are this good at keeping a poker face, honestly.

“And are any of them still around?” he asks, a little desperate for one of them to crack, give up the joke. “ _No_ , they aren’t. Hence, I was right.”

“And yet, _you_ are still around,” Kevin points out.

“Well, duh. We’re sisters,” Scott says, automatically. He’s not even aware he’s saying it until it’s already out of his mouth, a reflex response at this point.

“I know you keep saying that,” Kirstie says, “but Scott, hon? _Nobody_ looks at their sisters the way you look at Mitch.”

“…I look at him with my eyes. The same way I look at my _actual sisters_ ,” Scott says.

Kirstie and Kevin exchange a glance. Kirstie’s eyebrows are way up high on her forehead, and Kevin’s face is sort of folded down at the edges.

“Uh. No,” Kevin says, after a moment. “You don’t.”

“With my _eyes_ ,” Scott repeats. Maybe if he says it very slowly, many times, they’ll get the point. “The way I’m looking at you now.”

“No,” Kevin says.

“You look at Mitch and you literally develop little anime hearts. In your _eyes_ ,” Kirstie says, a little mockingly at the end, which is _so_ unnecessary.

“Oh, come on,” Scott says, rolling his eyes. “Real life isn’t purikura, even if that _would_ be cool.”

If he was trying to make them stop talking crazy, it doesn’t seem to work.

Kevin puts his hands over his face.

“Right. So, this is you,” Kirstie holds up her left hand, out to her side. Then she holds up her right hand, out to the other side, adding, “And this is the point.”

Scott sighs. Okay, so, they’re gonna insist on talking about _this_? Now? Fine. He’ll talk about it. “Well of _course_ I love Mitch,” he says, trying to sound calm and logical, because he _is_ both of those things, and they aren’t. “You know I do. He’s my _best friend_. He’s literally the most important thing in my life.”

“You—Seriously?” Kevin says, without pulling his hands away from his face.

“That doesn’t mean I’m jealous,” Scott goes on. Kevin makes a distressed noise, and Kirstie actually looks kind of pained. They’re both shaking their heads, almost in sync, even though they’re not looking at each other. ”No, really. I am not jealous because I do not have those kinds of feelings for him.”

”Are you sure about that,” Kirstie says, and Scott suddenly understands the term ‘hairy eyeball’. It’s the perfect description for the expression on her face right now. “Like, really, actually, _sure_?”

Scott grimaces and flails around about, trying to find the words. He manages to sputter, ”… Kirstie, c’mon. You know it’s not like that!”

Kevin drops his hands, and they literally both just stare at him, in nearly perfect unison again, how are they _doing_ that. It’s extremely disconcerting and not just because they’re using it in conjunction with the crazytalk.

Scott squints at them. ”Is this a parallel universe or something?” he asks. It would probably be _less_ strange than the strangeness that’s happening _right now_. “Are you filming this to put on YouTube as a prank? Look, I do not have romantic feelings towards Mitch! You know, you _both_ know I don’t!”

”Scott. Take a minute and think about it,” Kevin says. “You love him more than anything on this planet.”

”Yeah, I do. But as a _friend_!”

”Do you think he’s attractive?” Kirstie asks.  
 ”What?” Scott blinks. That question doesn’t even make sense. It’s practically the most nonsensical question they’ve asked all night. “Of course.”

They stare at him some more and they don’t say anything.

”What? That doesn’t _mean_ anything other than I have functioning eyes in my head!”

Kevin and Kirstie exchange a glance. Scott can’t figure out what this one’s supposed to mean. They must be able to, though, because after a second Kirstie says, ”So you love him more than anything on this planet and you think he’s attractive,” while Kevin nods in the background, unsurprised by her speech.

Scott can feel himself starting to scowl. He doesn’t try to stop. ”That doesn’t mean I’m _in love_ with him, or anything—ridiculous, like that.”

”Dude, what exactly do you think being in love with someone even is?” Kevin demands.

”Look, I’ve been in love, I know what it is!” Scott waves his arms around some more. “And don’t you think I’d have noticed if I’d suddenly fallen in love with my best friend? You don’t just… not notice falling in love with someone, all right?”

“You’d think that, yeah,” Kirstie says, her voice dry.

“I feel the same about Mitch that I always have,” Scott says.

They trade another of those annoying, inexplicable glances.

”… and that’s really the _only_ explanation for this you can think of,” Kevin says.

”Look, you guys are seriously weirding me out,” Scott snaps. He sits up straight so he can scowl down his nose at them properly, and crosses his arms over his chest. “I kind of wish Avi was here. He’d tell you how crazy you’re acting.”

”Oh, you’d be so disappointed,” Kirstie says. She and Kevin are both shaking their heads.

“It’s _really crazy_ ,” Scott clarifies.

Kevin gives him what’s probably supposed to be a pointed look. “Are you _sure_ about that? Sure that neither of you guys—you’re not—”

“Look, guys. Yeah, we’ve always, y’know, joked around,” Scott interrupts. He’s trying to sound reasonable right back at them, but it’s hard when they only _sound_ it, while they’re actually talking this kind of nonsense. “Especially for Superfruit, right, and I know we say we’re married and stuff like that, but it doesn’t mean _that_.”

“Really,” says Kirstie, in a flat voice.

If Scott didn’t love his haircut, he’d be pulling it out right now. “ _Yes_ , really!”

There’s a moment of silence. It’s just long enough that Scott starts to hope maybe he’s gotten through to them, after all.

“Look, dude, I love you,” Kevin says, standing up. “But it’s late, I’m tired, and you’re seriously impossible. I’m gonna head back to my room. Good night, man.”

Scott lets him leave without trying to get him to stay—maybe if it’s only Kirstie left, she’ll leave Scott alone about this—this—this _ridiculousness_ , without him having to give up on having company while he waits for Mitch to get back.

Kirstie waits a moment or two, but as soon as the door closes behind Kevin, she scoots closer. She grabs his hand, and says, ”Okay. Honey. I know you’re a little confused right now—”

“Really, you _think_?”

“—but. Have you really never considered the possibility that you have romantic feelings toward Mitch?”

”I literally just told you I’d have known if—”

“And that the reason they never changed,” Kirstie goes on, ignoring his words, “Is because you’ve always had them?”

Scott stares at her a minute, the question sinking in, while Kirstie keeps holding his hand and giving him that earnest look. Then he laughs.

Kirstie watches him. She doesn’t—doesn’t look offended, but she’s definitely not laughing with him.

“I’m serious,” she says, once his initial burst of laughter tapers off. “I’ve known you guys for more than half of my life. You think I’m just pulling this out of thin air?”

“Yes?” Scott hazards. He gets an eye roll in response.

“He’s single, you’re single. When was the last time that happened?” she asks.

Scott actually has to think about that. He thinks maybe it was—But, no, because it was literally high school. He hadn’t realized it had been that long since they were both single at the same time. Until now.

For some reason, thinking about it that way makes something uneasy curl in Scott’s gut. He—doesn’t like it.

“I just… assumed it came down to timing,” Kirstie says, while Scott’s still blinking through that realization. “That, now that Alex is out of the picture, you didn’t want to rush into anything that could mess up the band.”

“That’s assuming an _awful_ lot,” Scott manages to say.

Kirstie shrugs. “Maybe, yeah. Maybe not that much.”

“ _Definitely_ that much.”

“What, that two gay men who are each other’s type, who admit they love each other, who live together—might want to be in a relationship? Oh, yeah, what a _preposterous_ leap.” Kirstie rolls her eyes, hard enough it looks like it should hurt.

“It is!”

“If this were a romcom instead of real life, you’d be the first person saying how unrealistic it was they weren’t already having sex all over everywhere.”

There’s a nagging little voice in the back of Scott’s head trying to tell him that doesn’t sound one-hundred-percent untrue, but. “Not if they aren’t in love,” Scott says, anyway. “Like I’m _not_. With Mitch.”

“Yeah. Right. What do you think it’s like, to be in love with someone?” Kirstie asks.

“What does that have to do with any—”

“C’mon, humor me, okay?” She gives him what’s probably supposed to be an encouraging smile, but Scott just thinks it looks _dangerous_. “What’s it like?”

“Well, you, you wanna be with them all the time,” he starts, because that part is obvious. She nods, and he goes on, “Being with them is better than being with anyone else and you just want them to be happy.”

Even as he’s saying it he realizes he’s not helping his case because he knows and she knows and he knows that she knows that he knows that she knows that everything he just mentioned totally applies to Mitch, damn it. He scrambles to think of something that _won’t_.

“You want to kiss them just ‘cause they're cute but you also, uh,” and he has to stop as he realizes where he was just about to take that because his tongue totally got ahead of his brain.

“Yeah, right,” she agrees, still nodding. “You also..?”

“You want to spend all day in bed with them, and like, bend them over tables and soundmixing boards and…”

Kirstie isn’t looking flustered by the sex-mention, or defeated that he’s just totally out-logiced her. She’s actually _smiling_. “Right,” she says, something like cheerful. “Okay, good.”

“It is?” Scott asks, not trusting it for a second.

“How exactly is your relationship with Mitch different from this?” she concludes, proving he was right to distrust her.

He stares at her, betrayed. She just looks back, like she’s actually waiting for him to answer. Like he even needs to. It’s _obvious_.

“Well?” she prods, squeezing the hand of his she’s still holding.

“… it doesn't have the sex part,” Scott says, and he can’t help feeling a little triumphant, even though she sort of walked herself into that one, because, come on. He’s not a _total_ moron, he knows there’s no way around _that_ little bit of logic.

Except apparently Kirstie thinks there is, because she says, “What if it did?”

“Uh,” Scott says, “then that would be weird.”

“Why? Do you not think of him as a sexual being?”

“What?” Scott frowns. Uh, ex _cuse_ her, has she _seen_ Mitch? “Of course I do, have you not seen him?”

“So, you do, then,” Kirstie says.

“ _Yes_ , I do.” He pulls his hand out of hers, so that he can wave both of them around to illustrate how much, obviously, he does. “Don’t _you_?”

“In case you forget, because I know it was forever ago,” she reminds him, “I _have_ made out with him.” She pauses. There’s something challenging about the way her chin tips up. ”Have you?”

Scott feels like his eyes are about to bulge out of his head. ”What? No!”

”Have you ever wanted to?”

“ _Why would I_?” he demands, lowering his voice almost to a hiss, scandalized.

Her chin is still up, determined, and now she looks skeptical, too, her eyebrows inching up. “You’ve _never_ thought about it?”

“Of _course_ not. You can’t just go around fantasizing about your best friend. That is so wrong.”

“I wouldn’t think you’d be such a prude.”

“Not using my best friend for masturbatory material doesn’t make me a prude!”

“That’s not—Never mind.” Kirstie stops, shaking her head.

Scott lets himself suck in a deep breath in relief. Finally, they can stop this—

Then she goes and says, “Okay, just. Try this. Describe your ideal sexual partner. In detail.”

A wave of embarrassment sweeps over Scott. “Ohmigod,” he sputters, in a rush. “I can’t _tell_ you that! Not after—what you were saying!”

For a moment he has hope that maybe she’ll leave it at that, but no, why would he be that lucky. Instead, Kirstie switches it up, asking, “Or, like. Describe your perfect day.”

And, you know what, fine. Scott can do that—he doesn’t even mind. It’s not like it’s going to _prove_ anything for Kirstie, whatever she seems to think.

“Wake up and have Starbucks with Mitch,” he starts, lifting a finger.

“Of _course_ that’s how it would start,” Kirstie mutters.

Scott ignores her, and goes on, ticking things off on his fingers as he says them. “Work on songs and write some great ones. Lunch, at Chipotle, obviously. Starbucks again—”

“With Mitch?” Kirstie asks.

Scott ignores her, because _obviously_. “Shopping, then playing a show… and going out for strawberry martinis and loud obnoxious music after.”

Kirstie is nodding, and rolling her eyes at the same time. Like she thinks he’s being predictable, or something. “Anything else?”

“Well, if we’re talking _perfect_ , picking up a hot guy at the bar to bring back for amazing sex.”

Kirstie’s face kind of—twitches. Scott has no idea why it’s doing that.

“Is that all?” she asks.

“ _No_ ,” Scott says. “Then eating midnight ice cream with Mitch while gossiping about the hot guy after he leaves and watching Spongebob and cuddling.”

“…So basically an entire day with Mitch, plus sex.”

Scott nods.

“You sure you don’t want to change anything?” Kirstie asks.

“Why would I want to change any of it?” Scott counters, frowning. “It sounds amazing.” He pauses. ”Maybe if I could fit in a bubble bath somewhere.”

“Uh-huh.” Kirstie cocks her head. “What about, instead, getting your Starbucks with the hot guy? Who’s your boyfriend, your new Al—”

“Uhm, _no_ ,” Scott says, right away, shaking his head. “Doing that with—No. That’s a _Mitch_ thing, you know that.”

Kirstie looks at him for a couple of seconds, just watching. She sighs. “Okay. Try this concept: everything you mentioned stays the same but the hot guy is _Mitch_.”

“We’ve been through this, Kit,” Scott snaps.

“I know, I knoooow,” she says. “But. Just. Close your eyes for a second and imagine being at that club after the show, with a strawberry martini in your hand, doing your embarrassing grinding thing on the dance floor—”

“Hey, now,” Scott protests. There’s nothing _embarrassing_ about his grinding. His grinding is _hot_.

“…only it’s with Mitch, not some, some rando,” Kirstie says. “Are you imagining it?”

“Okay, this is _weird_ ,” Scott mutters, but he nods, and tries to imagine it. And it’s—it’s not actually very difficult. Mitch would fit against him, the way he always does.

“And then you take _him_ home for amazing sex,” Kirstie concludes.

Mitch would—Mitch would fit against him there, too, wouldn’t he? He. Scott forces his mind blank. He has to swallow a couple of times.

“Are you imagining this?” Kirstie demands, while he’s still trying to collect himself. “Don’t make me describe it to you, ‘cause this is already weird and uncomfortable enough for me.”

“What, for _you_? What do you think it is for _me_?” Scott chokes out.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

“I don’t need to _figure out_ any—”

Kirstie pokes the side of his face and talks over him. “ _And_ , once you've blown each other’s… minds... you can have your ice cream and Spongebob snuggle and then go to bed and cuddle some more and he’d still be there in the morning and probably give you head before you go off to Starbucks together. Imagine it.”

Scott has the horrible feeling that he knows exactly how this is going to turn out. He doesn’t want to imagine this, not if—if he—

But he’s come this far, he basically told Kirstie he’d try. He tries to picture it, to imagine flopping back on the bed after sex, loose and sated and happy, and it’s Mitch next to him. Mitch, just as happy and satisfied—probably flushed a little, his hair all a mess. Smiling at him, because Mitch would be, he’s probably the sweetest thing after an orgasm or two—

Scott’s breathing is speeding up and he can’t slow it down.

Mitch looking like that in the morning, too, the first thing Scott sees. Mitch with his lips wrapped around—

“Did you imagine it?” Kirstie asks.

Scott opens his mouth to answer—and can’t. He feels like he just missed a step at the bottom of a staircase and landed at the top instead. He feels like the Grinch at the end of the movie, realizing he’s got more in his heart than he’s got room for. There’s a rushing noise in his ears.

“Scott?” Kirstie asks, after what has to have been a very long time. Scott’s not sure, but he thinks maybe she’s said it already.

“…Oh. My god,” Scott says, staring at her.

“Yeah,” Kirstie says. She looks smug, but Scott can’t even care. “That’s what I thought.”

“Oh my _god_.”

Kirstie reaches out and pats his shoulder. “Aren’t you glad you know, now?”

“Oh. My. God.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” Kirstie mutters. She pulls away.

“ _Kirstie_ ,” Scott tries, but, no. No, he just can’t. “Oh, _oh_ my god.”

“Okay, now that I’ve broken you, I think maybe I should cut my losses,” Kirstie says, shaking her head at him and getting up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Oh my god,” Scott whines.

Kirstie snickers at him, but she also gives him a hug and a kiss on the forehead before she leaves the room. The sound of the door closing behind her on her way out is very, very loud. It echoes for a long time.

“Oh,” Scott says, to all that empty space. He has no idea what’s supposed to happen now. “ _God_.”

#

Mitch knocks on Scott’s door around twelve o’clock. Scott should have _known_ he would, because of course Mitch is going to come to Scott’s room to see him after his date. There was a reason Scott didn’t think it was weird to add ‘ice cream with Mitch gossiping about sex’ to the list of items on his perfect day.

“Hey, girl,” Mitch greets, breezing into the room before Scott manages to get his feet moving so he can open the door.

That’s right, he’d given Mitch a key, hadn’t he? He hadn’t even given it a second thought, he’d just done it automatically, because—because Mitch is supposed to be in his space, whenever he wants to be, isn’t he? There aren’t supposed to be _walls_ between them.

Scott can feel himself freaking out—his palms are sweating, his skin’s all prickly, and he’s having to _work_ to keep his eyes open an amount that’s casual and not at all like a woodland creature staring down an oncoming car. He’s going for chill, but it’s, it’s so _hard_. He doesn’t know where to look, what to do with his body.

Has he _always_ had this much limb? Surely not, surely they didn’t use to—to _gravitate_ toward Mitch this much, want to be touching him this badly.

He thinks he’s pulling it off, though, feels like maybe he’s hitting the mark for ‘usual’. He looks Mitch right in the face, pulls out a bright, cheerful voice, and says, “Hi! How was your date?”

There’s a beat where it looks like maybe one of them is about to miss their cue.

“It was. Okay,” Mitch says, but he’s speaking slowly, so that it’s like he stays that beat behind, almost on purpose. “It was okay.”

That isn’t what Scott wants to hear. Sadly, he’s pretty sure that an hour and a half ago, it _would_ have been. Or at least he would’ve thought it was.

“Well,” he says, through teeth that aren’t clenched tight and grinding together because he is _rocking_ this low-key, stealth thing. “Well that’s great! Are… you gonna see him again?”

Mitch blinks, once, his mouth open a little, like maybe was gonna speak but forgot to. Like he’s stretching out the beats to miss his cue entirely instead of just come in late.

Scott has the horrible feeling that he’s messed up. Did _he_ miss his cue? Come in too early?

“Not that I care,” he hurries to blurt. “Just. That’s great!” But then, because he’s some kind of idiot, and has no control over his own mouth, he hears himself add, “ _Are_ you?”

“I—Maybe,” Mitch says. “I dunno.”

He sounds dubious. Scott would _like_ to believe it’s because he’s not sure he wants to see SoandSo again, but he’s pretty sure that’s not it. Mitch wouldn’t be standing there with one hand halfway lifted to his hair, bemused eyes on Scott, if it was his _date_ that he wasn’t sure about.

Scott wishes the floor would open up and swallow him. He wishes there was a wall close enough he could beat his own head against it.

He’s trying his best to be normal, he really is. Only, it’s like—that awkward thing when you become aware of your own breath and then it’s suddenly a thing that requires attention? It’s like that.

Except it’s not his breath, it’s his _Mitch_ , and all of a sudden Scott apparently has no idea how to give him attention without giving him _attention_.

Mitch pauses again. Scott smiles, though it feels strained around the edges, and does his best to look normal and calm and not-in-love and _normal_.

“…are you high,” Mitch asks, sounding sort of blank, like he knows Scott isn’t but something is making him feel the need to check.

“Who, me?” Scott tries for a laugh, and fails horribly. It’s weird to his own ears, and falls flat in the space between them. “I’m _fine_.”

Mitch eyes him a little sidelong. “…well then, are you—Girl, what’s wrong with you?” he asks.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Scott lies, putting that smile that hurts back on his face. It had worked better than the laugh had, anyway.

“If you say so,” Mitch says.

“Really,” Scott insists. “But, uh.” He pauses. “Actually, I was about to go to bed. To sleep?”

Mitch stops eyeing him to stare at him full-out. “Right,” he says, slow.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow, then!”

There’s a very, very long moment. Scott begins to be afraid it hasn’t worked at all.

“Yes,” Mitch finally says, turning to head back out the door. “You definitely will.”

#

Rehearsal the next day is even worse.

Scott feels like a totally different person. He tries to act like his usual self, but it’s as if he can’t even remember what that _means_ anymore.

In the first ten minutes he trips over an amplifier cord, runs into Avi twice, getting a flat, weirded-out look both times, and then totally forgets to sing his part—not comes in late, not fumbles a line, just straight up forgets to sing it. He doesn’t even notice until everyone else has already stopped and is staring at him.

Even then, he has to mentally rewind the whole thing a couple of times before he realizes the problem.

“Oh,” he says, sinkingly. “Oh… _crap_.”

Avi gives him another bemused, blank look. Scott has a moment to wonder if there’s anything nearby he could crawl under and hide and _never come out_.

Kirstie catches his arm. “…You, me, privacy,” she hisses at him.

“What?” Scott blurts.

“We need to talk,” she says, already towing him toward the door. “Now.”

They pass Kevin on the way there, and Scott could _swear_ he hears him say, “Good grief, Scooter,” under his breath.

“What?” Scott demands, pausing to stare at Kevin. Kirstie gives an annoyed tug on his arm, but Scott doesn’t move. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Kevin just raises his eyebrows, and says, “Obviously you figured it out and now you’re being all—Yeah. Which, come on.”

“Come on _what_?” Scott asks, after a quick glance to make sure Mitch isn’t in hearing distance. He’s not, he’s on the other side of the room, pretending to be listening to Avi but actually eyeing Scott like he’s lost his mind. Scott doesn’t blame Mitch; he feels like he _has_ lost it.

“It’s not a big deal,” Kevin is saying, more gently. “It’s not like it’s even _new_ , man.”

Scott—stares at him. He just. Can’t.

“Okay, right,” he says, because there’s nothing else _to_ say. Kirstie tugs on his arm again, says, “Let’s _go_ ,” and this time Scott lets himself be pulled away.

Scott goes with Kirstie without saying another word. Once they’re alone, though, he can’t seem to _stop_ himself from talking, because as soon as the door to the bathroom she’s pulled him into closes behind them, his mouth opens. “What did you _do_ , now everything is _weird_ ,” is what comes out. Scott didn’t even know his voice could _go_ that high, or sound that hysterical.

“I didn’t _do_ anything,” says Kirstie.

Scott runs his hands through his hair, clenching them into fists and tugging until he can feel the pull on his scalp. It still doesn’t help, he still feels like he can’t hold still, like he’s coming out of his skin. “Do you think he can tell I’m acting weird?” he asks.

“Uh,” says Kirstie, looking at him very flatly. “ _Yeah_.”

“Oh, god,” Scott groans. “Do you think he _knows_?”

“I think he’s not an idiot?” Kirstie offers, which is not reassuring _or_ informative _at all_.

“What am I going to do?” asks Scott, tugging at his hair again.

Kirstie snorts. “That’s what I dragged you in here to ask _you_.”

“But I don’t _know_ what—”

The door snicks open behind Scott. He already knows what he’s going to see before he turns around, but he does it anyway.

Yep, he was right. There’s Mitch, leaning into the bathroom through the door they apparently _didn’t think to lock_ , giving them a concerned, deeply suspicious look. He’s been giving Scott that expression _all day_ , and if it weren’t Mitch’s face that it’s on, Scott thinks he’d want to burn it.

“Girls, you _do_ realize that for rehearsal we do actually need you both, right?” Mitch says, shifting that look back and forth between Kirstie and Scott. “To, y’know, rehearse?”

“Yeah,” Kirstie says, with a much better reaction time than Scott could even _hope_ for right now. “We’re just coming.”

She starts toward the door. Scott—doesn’t. He can’t seem to make his feet move to follow her. Mitch is _right there_.

Mitch’s eyebrows do something complicated, and Kirstie looks back over her shoulder at Scott.

“Hey,” she says, “you coming?”

“Yes.”

Scott focuses on her hair, and not Mitch’s face, and manages to get his body to cooperate. He follows her out, past Mitch and back to the stage, without looking over at Mitch once.

It’s really hard not to, and Scott is an _idiot_.

No way it should’ve taken him this long to work out how he felt.

#

They have a show that night.

Scott was sort of dreading it, but by some miracle he gets through it—Well, no, not really a miracle. He’s a pro, and seeing the audience makes him go into autopilot, it’s what he does, it’s what he loves. He manages to nail his part for the crowd, and it’s blessedly not weird.

For several wonderful hours, everything is completely normal, and life is great again.

But then they pile onto the bus that is taking them to Salt Lake City after, and, well.

There isn’t very much space on a tour bus. It’s very hard to surreptitiously hide from someone on one. Especially someone who, until yesterday, you used to follow around like a very large lovesick puppy. Scott wishes he could go back in time and yell at his past self to please, please, don’t be so obvious, it’s going to come back to bite me in the ass, you giant _dummy_.

Mitch finally gets up to use the bathroom, and Scott takes the opportunity to move from the couch he’d been sharing with Mitch—while trying not to touch him, and it should _not_ have been that hard but Mitch kept moving _into_ him—and onto the bench at the table, next to Avi. There’s barely room. He’d like to see Mitch follow him _here_.

He looks up to check if Mitch is coming back yet, and spots Avi watching him.

“Hi,” Scott says, feeling caught.

“Dude,” Avi says, with feeling. “What is going _on_?"

Scott winces. There is no way he wants to have this conversation. Not right now, not with _anyone_ , and definitely not with Avi, who would—probably he’d tell Scott what an idiot Scott already knows he is. He might even say something about why Scott should have known, or how everybody _else_ figured it out first, and. Scott can’t deal with that right now.

He just can’t.

Avi’s still waiting, eyebrows a little raised, expectant. He’s not nagging, though.

"Avi, man, I love you, you know I do,” Scott starts. He hears the bathroom door open, and drops his voice so Mitch won’t overhear to finish, “But I really, really, _really_ do not want to talk about it.”

Avi looks at him a little longer, then shrugs. “Okay,” he says, thank god. “So what _do_ you want to do, then?”

“MarioKart?” Scott suggests, half-hopeful and _all_ urgent, because Mitch is walking towards them now, and he’s frowning. Scott can’t let him reach them, without an excuse for running away, that would be _awful_ and defeat the purpose of running away in the first place.

“Sure thing,” Avi says, easy, and gets up to head for the couch that Scott just abandoned to escape Mitch. He gets there at the same time Mitch does.

Probably Scott can stand sharing it, if Avi’s there, too.

He nudges Avi into the middle, just to be safe.

#

This weirdness has been going on for over a day now, and Mitch is _tired_ of it.

“I am tired of this,” he tells Kirstie, cornering her in the back of the bus, near the bunks. He thinks she might’ve come back here to get her pajamas, but she doesn’t have them yet.

“Tired of…?” Kirstie says, giving him a look like he started the conversation without her.

“Scott,” Mitch says.

Kirstie’s eyebrows go way, way up. “Well,” she says. “ _This_ is new.”

Rolling his eyes, Mitch waves a hand to dismiss that ludicrous idea. “Not _Scott_ , of Scott being _weird_.”

“Oh,” Kirstie says, her eyebrows going still. They come back down. “ _That_.”

As starts go, this one is _not_ promising.

“You didn’t _do_ anything to him, did you?” Mitch asks.

Kirstie’s brows wrinkle together. “Did I—What?”

“Do anything,” Mitch repeats. “To Scott.”

“Anything like _what_?”

“Like, like secretly get knocked up and tell only _him_ ,” Mitch says. He narrows his eyes at her. “Because that would be a _terrible_ idea.”

“Would it,” she says, very flat.

“Scott is horrible at secrets, he’d give himself an ulcer trying to keep it from me.”

She stares at him. Just, just stares, like he’s speaking Swahili or something. For a very long time, she doesn’t say anything.

It starts to make Mitch nervous.

“ _Are_ you pregnant?” he demands.

“No,” she snaps.

“Are you _sure_? Because you looked a bit like—”

“Yes, I’m sure. This is a Scott thing, _not_ a my-uterus thing.”

“Are you _really_ sure?”

“My uterus doesn’t have _anything_ to do with it,” Kirstie snaps. “Why would you even _think_ that?”

“I—didn’t really,” Mitch says. “But you made that face, and—I mean.”

“And, what, _that’s_ the best you could come up with?”

Mitch opens his mouth to snap back at her, but pauses before anything comes out. She looks confused, and tired... and maybe a little worried. About him? About Scott?

Mitch can’t tell for sure, but seeing it is enough to have him admitting, “Actually, I’m starting to worry that my dating SoandSo is making him miss Alex.”

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t miss—” She stops, and squints at him sort of sidelong. “Did you really just call your date ‘SoandSo’, for real?”

Mitch looks away, and shrugs. “That’s what Scott called him.”

“I know it’s what—Doesn’t he have a name?”

“Obviously.” Mitch pauses. “I think it’s Javier?”

“You _think_ ,” Kirstie says, going all high at the end, like she can’t even believe him.

“The _important_ thing,” Mitch says, stressing it to draw her attention away from that, “is what me being with Javier is doing to Scott.”

“You think you dating is bothering him,” Kirstie says.

“That’s what I just said.”

She looks disbelieving again. “Bothering him, by making him miss _Alex_.”

“Yes.”

Kirstie stares at him for a couple more seconds. Then she drops her forehead into the cup of her hand. “What is _wrong_ with you.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

“Please, for the love of everything, tell me you didn’t suggest that to him,” Kirstie says, without lifting her head back up. “Because _oh my god_.”

Mitch scoffs. “No way, I’m not _that_ confused,” he promises. “That is one road I am _not_ going down, not unless I absolutely have to.”

Reminding Scott about how much he loved Alex is just about the _last_ thing Mitch wants to do. For very good reason.

There must be something in his voice, because Kirstie lifts her head to look at him. “Uh-huh,” she says.

She’s giving him a knowing look—but of course she _doesn’t_ know, how could she? Mitch has been careful for so long now. Especially around her, because she _did_ know when they were in high school, she’s known them best and for longer than almost anyone, so he’s been _so_ careful, all the time, to never let her see. And definitely, always, to never, ever tell her.

Maybe he _could_ , though? Maybe it’s finally a good time to—

But, no. He’s not doing that again. He doesn’t want to have to see her watching him with that sad look when Scott smiles at him, not ever again.

Mitch feels his mouth tighten. He shakes his head, to get rid of the thought.

“I just meant, I knew Scott wasn’t over him,” he says, backtracking. “And why would he be, they were together for ages, but he’d seemed like he was dealing—better than before?”

“That’s one way to put it,” Kirstie says.

“But he’s not there yet,” Mitch goes on. “I know that, it’s why I haven’t—”

Catching up with his words, he cuts himself off. Shit, is he blushing?

“ _Anyway_ ,” very firmly, “has he said anything to you?”

At first, Mitch doesn’t get an answer. “ _Has_ he?” he presses.

“You need to be talking to him about this,” is Kirstie’s response, when she eventually gives him one.

“I would!” Mitch says. Then, in fairness, he makes himself add, “But I don’t want to upset him.”

Kirstie is shaking her head, like she can’t believe him.

"It's a sensitive subject and he already doesn't want to talk about it,” Mitch defends himself. “And to be honest I don’t want to talk about it either. Can you blame me?”

“No, really, Mitchell. Talk to _him_.”

She turns around and walks away from him before he can say anything else.

Mitch huffs. He goes back out to watch Scott ignore him.

Too absorbed in MarioKart to look at Mitch—yeah, _right_.

#

Scott keeps trying to stop acting like the world’s biggest weirdo, really. He does his best to be normal, but he… doesn’t think it’s working.

“Hey, wait up, babe,” Mitch calls, as they’re heading into the hotel the next night. Scott debates pretending not to have heard, but Mitch’s voice is coming from _right behind_ him, and—

“Hey, _hey_!”

Mitch’s hand closes around Scott’s wrist.

Scott fights off a really unhelpful shiver. He turns to look down at Mitch.

Mitch is smiling. It looks a little tense around the edges, and doesn’t reach all the way to his eyes, but he’s _smiling_. Scott can’t figure out how to make his tongue work to speak.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in days,” Mitch says, filling the silence for him. “I miss you!”

“I’m right here,” Scott manages. It comes out croaky.

Mitch pokes his side. “We haven’t hung out, though. I’m _sad_ , Scott.”

“Sorry,” Scott says, on reflex. “I—sorry.”

“Hey, no worries, you can make it up to me. Girls night in!”

Scott has a flash of Mitch cuddled up to him, on a couch or maybe a bed. Oh, god. No.

No, no, that is a _bad idea_. It’s the worst idea Scott’s ever heard. It’s worse than wearing a tie and leaving your collar popped.

Mitch is looking up at him, a tiny frown line starting to form between his brows. “Scott?” he says, and shit, he’s noticed Scott panicking, hasn’t he?

He looks confused, and unsure—like, he looks _hurt_. And sad.

That is. That’s not something Scott wants to see, ever, and definitely not to _cause_. Well, shit.

If it comes down to a choice between making Mitch sad, and dealing with Mitch in his space for an hour or two while they watch some cheesy tv or a movie, or something like that. Well. One of those is acceptable, and one of them isn’t.

After all, it’s not like they’ve never done this before.

“Sure,” he says, and dredges up a smile. “That sounds great.”

Mitch smiles again, and Scott almost, almost believes it’ll be worth it. After all, what could go wrong, really? Hell, it might be just what he needs to go back to acting normal around Mitch.

They’ve only been in his hotel room for approximately three minutes when he realizes how naive an assumption that was.

Mitch had a bottle of wine with him, because of course he did, and when he went past Scott to stick the bottle in the fridge of the mini bar, his shoulders bumped Scott’s arm and Scott could feel it in his _toes_. They sat down on the bed to pick a movie and their knees brushed and Scott thought his heart was going to pound right out of his chest.

“Ooh, they have 10 Things,” Mitch says, because of course he got to the remote and now he’s gonna torture Scott without meaning to. “I haven’t seen that in ages.”

Scott realizes that he should probably respond because the room gets quiet. He clears his throat. “Uh, me either.”

“Should we?”

“Sure,” he croaks.

Only, Scott failed to remember that this movie basically starts with badly written sex being awkwardly narrated by a middle-aged woman. And that is _not_ what Scott needs in his life right now.

“Oh,” he mumbles, over _turgid member_ , his face feeling ten times as hot as it needs to.

Mitch looks over at him, and after a second, he actually giggles, damn it. "You need to get _laid_ , sis,” he says, through the giggles.

Scott has a vivid visual hallucination of getting laid right now, on this bed, with Mitch on his _enormous bratwurst_ , and he chokes on the laugh he was trying to answer with. Holy shit. No, no, _no_.

Mitch doesn’t seem to pick up on how badly Scott’s brain just broke, but it’s a minor blessing.

Things are not as they should be. This is not fixing anything. Every time Mitch moves, their bodies touch somewhere, and completely without Scott’s permission, his body flails around. Mitch shifts so their hips are touching, and Scott spills wine on the bed; their feet tangle and Scott just about catches Mitch in the face with his elbow.

Like. This is _really_ weird.

Which is weird itself, because they've never been weird around each other _ever_. It’s so bad that Scott is maybe starting to _freak out_ a little, because he’s trying, he is, but it's not getting any better, it's just getting _worse_ and—

What if it's gonna be like this always?

What's he gonna do _then_?

Scott can’t live with things being not okay like this forever. It's too awkward; he’s gonna need his Mitchy back at _some point_.

On the screen, the new kid is making cow eyes at the popular girl and sighing all lovesick, and here in the room Mitch is snuggling into his side and making _noises_ and it's all happened a million times before but now it makes Scott's palms sweat. The soles of his _feet_ are sweating, this is gross and horrifying and Mitch is _so close_.

There’s a knock on the door.

Oh, thank _god_.

#

Mitch hasn’t even properly registered that the sound he just heard was a knock on the door, before Scott is _leaping_ off the bed and saying, “Oh, I’ll just go see who that is!” like a bad caricature of a fifties housewife, or something.

“Sure,” Mitch says, to Scott’s back. He thinks evil thoughts toward Scott and his weirdness, and to whoever’s on the other side of the door, too.

Scott gets it open, and oh, great, it’s Esther. Mitch takes back some of the bad wishes for the person at the door, but only some of them.

“Hi,” Scott exclaims, like he’s fucking _delighted_ that they’re being interrupted. “Hi, Esther!”

“Hi hi to you, too,” she says, a smile in her voice. There’s one on her face as well, when she leans around Scott to wave at Mitch. “Hey, Mitch.”

“Hey,” he replies, much more subdued. Scott’s beaming at her, that’s enough enthusiasm for the both of them right there. Resigning himself to the interruption, Mitch grabs the remote and pauses the movie.

“Did you need something?” Scott asks, still obscenely bright.

“Right, yes,” she says, stepping into the room and looking down at her clipboard. “Okay, so, I just wanted to go over a couple of things with you two…”

Scott nods along while she talks about the hotel switch she apparently made that day, the departure time from the next city that she moved up, and a couple of other things that Mitch makes mental notes about without really paying attention to in the moment. He just wants to keep the smile on his face until she’s done and leaves, and they can—

“We were just watching a movie,” Scott says, in the moment right before Esther would have made her excuse to leave, Mitch could _see_ her getting it ready. “We’re not that far in, you wanna stay and finish it with us?”

God _damn_ it.

Esther pauses, glances at Mitch on the bed, the barely drunk bottle of wine on the nightstand.

Mitch refuses to let himself stop smiling.

“What movie?” she asks.

“Ten Things I Hate About You,” Scott says, like it’s a selling point. Of course it is, who doesn’t love this movie.

Esther still seems wary—which she never has before, so something must be showing on Mitch’s face despite the smile he’s surgically attached to it—but she looks like she’s tempted. “Well, if you don’t mind—”

“Of course we don’t!” Scott insists, brightly enough that it should be obvious _somebody_ , somewhere, is going to mind.

“Then, sure, I’d love to watch it,” Esther says, because of course she does.

Scott looks fucking _triumphant_. Mitch doesn’t know why, but he does know it makes him want to strangle him.

And, okay. Yes, fine, it’s not that bad. He loves Esther, usually, and. It’s—it’s less awkward, now, Scott doesn’t look like he’s holding himself quite so stiffly, but. Esther between them wasn’t _really_ what Mitch had in mind, when he suggested this.

Esther there at _all_ wasn’t really what he had in mind. If he can’t pin Scott down for a casual conversation about his ex while they’re alone, there’s no way he’s gonna get it done with an audience.

Mitch’ll just have to try again, later.

#

_Later_ is the very next night.

Mitch was gonna be patient, he was gonna wait for an opportunity to arise naturally and organically, because look how well arranging a manufactured one worked _last_ time, but damn it. Scott is just as weird today as he was yesterday, and Mitch has had _enough_. He can’t take this.

“Okay,” he says to everyone in the bus’s lounge, loudly, and without even attempting to be subtle. “Anyone not an emotional voyeur has thirty seconds to find somewhere else to be.”

Scott makes to stand up along with Avi and Kevin, and Mitch glares at him.

“No,” he snaps. “Not _you_.”

“Sorry, man,” Avi mutters to Scott, giving him a sympathetic look.

Scott looks back at him like he’s been betrayed.

“How long do you need?” asks Kevin, who isn’t looking at anyone.

Thank heavens Kirstie’s already in the back of the bus, she’d probably be sighing and calling him _Mitchell_ again—which would be unfair, because this is her advice he’s trying to follow.

“I don’t know,” Mitch answers, pinning Scott to his seat with another glare, because Scott looked like he was thinking about getting up and trying to slink out like a ninja. He’s a giant, they make _really bad_ ninjas. “Five minutes? More? I’ll let you guys know when it’s safe to come back.”

“Take your time,” Kevin says, shrugging. He heads for the door. Avi’s already gone.

“What’s wrong with you,” Scott whines, actually squirming in his seat. He’s staring at Mitch’s shoulder, rather than looking at his face.

“What’s wrong with _you_ ,” Mitch shoots back. He props his hands on his hips and stares Scott down. “Is this some weird, lingering I-miss-my-ex thing, where you can’t be around other people who are starting to date again?”

Mitch isn’t sure whether he wants a ‘yes’ or not, because he doesn’t want it to be true, but it’s his best theory so far. If that’s not it, he doesn’t know where he’s gonna go from here.

He’s gonna stab somebody if he gets that ‘yes’, though. He’s not sure who, but he will. Just watch him.

#

Mitch thinks Scott’s hung up on _Alex_.

This is _hysterical_.

(It’s the least funny thing Scott’s ever heard.)

“You mean—Alex?” Scott asks, because maybe he’s interpreting this wrong.

Mitch nods.

Not interpreting it wrong.

“I promise I’m over him,” Scott says, having to force the words out even though they’re the truth. He does it, makes himself say them, because he hates to see that expression on Mitch’s face, all concerned and worried. “That _really_ isn’t the problem.”

“Then what _is_?”

“Mitch—”

“You basically just admitted there is one, come on. Don’t treat me like an idiot.”

“It’s not—Nothing you need to worry about, okay?” Scott says. “I’m handling it.”

“Please,” Mitch says. “Please tell me, it's breaking my heart to see you like this and not knowing why.”

It’s almost laughable, isn’t it, Mitch asking about this. Mitch _pushing_ , as if there’s something he could do. Some way to make this better.

Scott’s not laughing.

He doesn’t want to be _talking_ about this. The longer it goes, the more likely Scott is to let something slip, to give himself away somehow. Scott doesn’t know what Mitch will do when he finds out, but he doesn’t think it could be good.

“Shouldn’t you call SoandSo?” he asks, trying to change the subject.

“What?” Mitch blinks at him, once, twice. He shakes his head. “Oh, no.”

“No?”

“Actually, I don’t think I’m gonna see him again.”

Scott has to remind his racing heart that that doesn’t _mean_ anything. It doesn’t even have anything to do with Scott. “You aren’t?”

“I wasn’t really feeling it,” Mitch says. He tilts his head, looks at Scott a little off-kilter, through his lashes. “It wasn’t _right_.”

 _Good_.

“That’s too bad,” Scott lies.

“Yeah.” Mitch watches him for a second. Then he seems to deflate. His shoulders slump, and he drops down onto one of the seats— _not_ one of the ones next to Scott.

“You can come back whenever you want!” he shouts.

“Thanks, man!” Kevin shouts back, from somewhere in the back of the bus. “I’m good, though.”

“Good,” Mitch mimics. He covers his face with his hands. “ _Great_.”

Scott decides to look away, because he doesn’t know what that’s about, and he doesn’t think he wants to.

#

Mitch only sticks around in the bus lounge for a minute or two after Avi comes back. He needs—assistance. Moral support. _Sanity_.

He goes looking for Kirstie, and finds her brushing her teeth in the tiny bathroom.

“Well that wasn’t helpful at _all_ ,” Mitch announces.

Kirstie startles, and toothpaste foam drips down her chin. She glares at Mitch.

“What?” he says, shrugging half-apologetically. “It _wasn’t_.”

She spits the foam out into the sink, gives her mouth a quick rinse, and turns back to him.

“What,” she asks, with an edge, “are you talking about?”

“I tried to talk to Scott. He says he’s over Alex.” Mitch pauses. “He seemed really sure about it.”

She gapes at him a minute, her mouth hanging open. There’s still a little bit of toothpaste in the corner.

“I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“You get paid just fine,” Mitch says, waving a hand.

“Not for _this_ ,” she retorts. “Did you _seriously_ ask Scott about—”

“Of _course_ I did, he’s still being weird,” Mitch says.

“So you asked him if he was over—wait, what, did you do it just _now_ , on the _bus_?”

Mitch decides to ignore that bit about being on the bus, because he didn’t have a choice there. The bus is the only place Scott can’t run away from him. “Well, what else was I gonna do? It was the only thing I could think of that would explain how weird he’s been.”

“God.” Kirstie groans. “What did I do to deserve this? Why couldn’t you take this to someone else?”

“Exactly who would I ask about it instead?” Mitch says, not really expecting her to have an answer.

“How about _Kevin_ ,” she shoots back right away.

Mitch blinks. He frowns. “Why would I talk to _Kevin_ —”

“Why would you talk to _Scott_ , if you were just going to say—what you said to him!” 

“You _told me_ to talk to him!”

“Not and say _that_ ,” she argues, gesturing wildly at the bathroom door with her toothbrush.

“Like I said, it was the only thing I could think of,” Mitch says. “And he just insisted he’s over Alex, so that wasn’t even helpful.”

“You sound skeptical,” Kirstie says. “What, do you not believe him?”

“What? No! No, I don't think he'd lie to me but… then what?” Mitch pauses, and frowns. “Did I _do_ something?”

“What do you think you might’ve done?”

“I don’t _know_ , if I knew, I could _fix_ it.”

“How exactly would you fix it?”

“I don’t know,” Mitch snaps, “Because I _don’t know what I did_.”

“Ugh, no, really, _how_ is it this keeps _happening_ to me,” Kirstie groans, under her breath. She gives Mitch a look, but he doesn’t think she’s actually talking to _him_. “Kevin doesn’t get stuck doing this, shouldn’t it be his turn?”

“Are you telling me I should take Scott’s gay love life troubles to _Kevin_ ,” Mitch asks her, anyway.

“No,” Kirstie says. She huffs. “I still think talking to Scott about this is your best option.”

“I told you,” Mitch says, a little more snippy than he means to be. He’s irritated, yeah but that isn’t—it’s not _her_ fault. “I tried that. It didn’t do any good.”

Kirstie’s mouth twists. She tilts her head away and shrugs. “Then I’m sorry, hon. I got nothing for you.”

Mitch huffs. He doesn’t push her for another suggestion, though; she tried to help once already. It’s more than she _had_ to do, given that this is Mitch’s problem. It’s not on her to fix it. He appreciates her even trying.

#

After their show the next day is another hotel night, and they don’t have an early call the next morning, so they all end up following Esther and Avi out to dinner. It’s nice, and almost normal.

But it’s nice partly because Scott manages not to sit next to Mitch, and that means it can’t be completely normal. Scott pretends he can’t see Mitch glaring at him throughout dinner.

“Let’s go out,” Mitch suggests, as they’re leaving the restaurant. He says it like a challenge, a dare, looking straight at Scott. “Get drinks. It’ll be fun.”

It wouldn’t be fun. It would be weird and _horrible_.

“Count me out,” Scott says, before anyone else can agree, or start trying to guilt him into it. “I don’t think I feel like going out tonight.”

Mitch is so busy visibly seething that he apparently forgets to push the subject when everybody else declines, as well. That, or he never really wanted to go out in the first place, and was only testing Scott.

Scott has the really horrible feeling it’s the latter, and he probably just failed spectacularly.

He hangs the _do not disturb_ sign on his door as soon as they get back to the hotel. Nobody knocks. Scott still doesn’t sleep well.

The next day they have a late morning start to a long bus trip—Scott can’t actually remember where they’re heading next—and Scott is dreading it. After what Mitch did in the lounge the other day, he doesn’t feel safe sitting out in the common areas, not even if he could convince Avi to play MarioKart with him for the entire drive.

He ends up curling up and hides in his bunk with his headphones in, instead.

For some reason, his iPod winds up on the playlist he made right after Alex broke up with him, that he never got around to deleting. He listens through four songs before he admits to himself that it wasn’t an accident, and he’s not planning to change it.

It’s early evening when they get to the hotel and check in. Scott’s joints all ache from being balled up like that all afternoon. He’s got _Details in the Fabric_ stuck in his head, and he kind of wants to cry just _looking_ at Mitch and his pinched, frowny face.

“—dinner?” he catches Kirstie suggesting, half-turning toward him.

“Not me,” Scott mumbles, quickly, looking down, at his shoes. He hopes nobody caught him— _pining_ at Mitch, or anything.

Avi makes a curious noise. “You’re not hungry, man?”

“Nope,” Scott lies.

“Dude. You didn’t eat lunch,” Kevin points out. His hand comes into Scott’s view, reaching to poke Scott’s stomach or something. Scott sidesteps it. “You feeling all right?”

“Yeah, fine,” Scott says. He shrugs, looks back up and throws them all a quick, false smile. “Just—tired. I’m gonna go ahead and go up to bed, I think.”

He wishes he hadn’t lifted his head, because he’s got a great view of Mitch’s face as it frowns harder.

“Okay,” Kirstie says, after a beat. “See you tomorrow, then, I guess.”

“Right, see you.”

#

Mitch is officially, one hundred percent, absolutely _done_ with this bullshit.

He wasn’t going to bother Kevin, he really wasn’t, no matter _what_ Kirstie had been implying. He had every intention of working this out on his own. But then Scott spent the past twenty-four hours actually _hiding_ from him—literally, inescapably hiding—and he doesn’t know what else to do.

He gives Kevin just enough time to have actually made it up to his room. Then Mitch goes and knocks on Kevin’s door.

“Hey, Mitch,” Kevin says, opening it. “What’s u—”

“Hi, I’m sorry to bother you but something’s going on with Scott,” Mitch blurts. “I need _help_.”

Kevin looks at him blankly for a second, then steps aside and holds the door open. Mitch goes in.

“Whattaya need me for?” Kevin asks, once the door’s closed. “I’m happy to do whatever, but.”

“Kirstie made it sound like you maybe know whatever it is that’s going on,” Mitch says, and has the questionable satisfaction of watching Kevin freeze with his mouth open.

“Oh,” Kevin says. Mitch can’t tell, but he thinks probably Kevin is blushing.

Mitch nods. “So you do, then.”

”Uh. Kind of?” says Kevin. “I guess?”

“Right.” Mitch crosses his arms and squares his shoulders. “Tell me what I have to do to get you to _tell me_ what _the hell_ is _wrong_ with him.”

“Oh, dude,” Kevin says, with a sigh. “I dunno.”

“ _Please_.”

“Okay. Okay. Look, this is gonna sound really nosy, but,” Kevin says.

“Oh, no,” Mitch says, looking at him, wary.

Kevin keeps talking. “Do you have, uh, feelings—”

“Oh,” Mitch says, “ _no_.”

“—for Scott?” Kevin finishes.

“Is this a joke?” Mitch demands.

“No,” Kevin says. He raises his eyebrows. “Do you?”

Mitch just—looks at him. He doesn’t have the words to explain it to Kevin, all the things Scott is to him, all the things Mitch feels for him, about him, _because_ of him. He still hasn’t found the words to explain it to _Scott_ , and he’s been working on _that_ since Alex broke up with him all those months ago.

If he can’t say it to Scott—and he can’t say it to Kirstie—He can’t say it now, either.

He just meets Kevin’s gaze, doesn’t try to hide any of it, and lets Kevin take whatever he can from the look on Mitch’s face.

After a second, Kevin breaks eye contact and nods. “Right,” he says. “Okay, so, here’s the solution.”

He sounds—extremely sure of himself. Mitch lets his eyebrows go up. “ _The_ solution, really?” he can’t resist asking.

“Normally,” Kevin starts, looking the opposite of fazed by Mitch’s tone. In fact, he’s grinning, a little, soft instead of wide and bright. “I would never, ever betray a confidence like this, you know that.”

Wait, _what_?

“Confidence?” Mitch repeats, thrown.

Kevin keeps talking without answering. “But, dude. I think you need to know and he’s _never_ gonna say ‘cause, I mean, we gotta face it. He’s a moron.”

There’s something sinking somewhere in Mitch’s gut, something rising in his throat. This—doesn’t sound like it’s going where Mitch thought it was going. It sounds—really bad.

“I need to know _what_?” he demands.

“Scott’s in love with you,” Kevin says. “He figured it out last week.”

That’s not nearly as bad as it sounded like it was going to be. “Of course he’s— _Last week_?” he says, everything in him just _stopping_.

Kevin is nodding, even as Mitch is struggling to align this information with what he _thought_ he knew about the universe. “ _Please_ do something about it,” Kevin says, a little plaintive. “Because it was kinda funny the first day, but now it’s just sad.”

“This is the most ridiculous conversation I’ve ever had,” Mitch tells him.

“Is it?” Kevin asks, looking at Mitch like he’s asking him something else entirely.

Mitch brushes his hair off his face and narrows his eyes. “I just found out that one of the people in my future relationship is _actually_ a moron,” he says.

“Oh,” says Kevin.

“And it’s not me,” Mitch snaps.

“Uh-huh,” Kevin says, still grinning a little.

“So yes,” Mitch says, “it is the most ridiculous.”

And it _is_ ridiculous, because—because Mitch isn't an _oblivious idiot_ , okay, so he’s known very well how he feels for, for, well, for a long time. Only, Scott was with Alex, so obviously Mitch couldn’t do anything about his feelings, and then Scott needed to be _over_ Alex, and Mitch just had to _wait_.

He wasn't all sad about it and crying into his pillow at night, or _literally hiding from people_ —because he's not _dumb_ , all right. He saw the way Scott was looking at him, since even before things ended with Alex—he’d always wondered whether those looks were part of why Alex ended it—but neither he nor Scott ever did anything about it.

He thought Scott knew, too, and they were both just waiting for the timing to be right. He thought it was a Someday kind of thing, and he was _okay_ with that. He really was.

But, damn it, he thought Scott _knew_.

Now here Kevin is telling him that apparently Mitch _is_ dumb.

“Excuse me,” Mitch tells Kevin, through clenched teeth. “I gotta go.”

“Where’re you going?” Kevin asks, not really sounding concerned about it.

“To yell at the moron I could’ve been dating ages ago,” Mitch says. He turns and slams out of Kevin’s hotel room.

Fortunately, he knows _exactly_ where to find Scott.

#

The door to Scott’s hotel room opens without a knock. It swings in so hard that it thuds against the wall; that’s Scott’s first clue.

Scott’s second clue is the look on Mitch’s face—because it is Mitch, of course it would be Mitch, Scott’s still been having Esther give Mitch his spare keys, couldn’t figure out how to not without needing to make explanations he doesn’t have—but the expression Mitch is wearing right now makes those awkward avoided conversations look like a cake walk. His eyebrows are sharp slashes, his jaw leaner for the way he’s tensing it, and his mouth pinched small.

Mitch looks _angry_.

“Is it true?” he says, not even a greeting.

Oh, god, no.

Scott can only think of one thing that Mitch would have to ask about, that would make him look like _that_.

“What?” Scott asks, already knowing it’s probably hopeless. “Is what true?”

“You’ve been acting bizarre _all week_ ,” Mitch accuses, hand in the air, like he’s at once pointing at Scott so there’s no confusion who he means, and making it clear he’s not done. “Because—because you love me?”

“Uh,” Scott says, his mind a great, screaming blank for a moment.

“Like, _seriously_ , Scott? That’s your excuse, really?” Mitch goes on, the hand in the air waving now.

“I,” he tries, “uh.”

“You’re in love with me?” Mitch’s eyebrows go up a bit, still all slanted and annoyed. “ _That’s_ why you’ve been all weird?”

“I can explain,” Scott blurts, saying the first words he can come up with that aren’t _shit shit oh shit_. “Mitchy, I didn’t—It’s not—”

“Exactly _what_ is it _not_?” Mitch demands, arms in the air. “Because it _sounds_ like—”

Scott can’t let him finish that sentence, doesn’t want to know what it sounds like. “I didn’t mean to! It was an accident, I didn’t even know I was—You’re always _right there_ , and I—I’ll get over it, please, you have to believe—”

“Just—Just stop talking,” Mitch snaps, and his voice is hard and _angry_. 

Mitch knows and he's _angry_. Which, the logical conclusion to draw from this, the only meaning Scott can think of for it, is that Mitch is angry—

He’s angry—

Angry— _about_ Scott being, being in, oh god, oh, about Scott being _in love with him_.

Scott feels like he needs to—to put his head between his knees, but that’s so far away and everything is slowing down and speeding up at the same time. His chest is too tight for him to move, and—

Mitch knows.

Scott can’t think, he—

Mitch knows.

Mitch knows.

Mitch is _angry_.

#

It takes Mitch several unforgivable seconds to realize that Scott’s face has lost even what little color it usually has.

Mitch stops talking, stops moving, and takes a proper look at him.

Scott’s face is white, chalky; his hands are shaking; his chest is rising and falling rapidly but it doesn’t seem like he’s actually getting any air; his eyes are showing white all the way around the edges, wet and unblinking. He looks like—

“Okay,” Mitch says, alarmed, pulling his tone back down to careful, holding his hands up wide and soft and open, “okay, don’t, don’t pass out. Okay?”

Scott looks back at him, no sign that he heard Mitch, no change in his expression. Are his shoulders trembling?

“Scott?” Mitch tries.

That gets a twitch—more like a flinch, shit, but at least he _heard_ that time.

Shit.

Mitch knows what it’s like to feel the way Scott looks right now, knows it from the awful inside where you wish you _could_ crawl out of your own skin, just to get away from hearing and seeing _all the things_ and _none of them_ at the same time. White noise rushing in your ears, your brain, like knives, the air on your skin so heavy it hurts but still not enough to keep—

But, so.

He knows it, but he’s never seen Scott like this. What did he _do_? What did he say that would do this, to Scott?

“Sit down,” he says, makes it an order, but a gentle one. Barely more than a suggestion. “Okay? Sit down.”

Jerkily, like his joints aren’t really his to control, Scott takes a step back, bumps into the end of the bed. He drops down to perch on the edge of it, really more like falling than sitting. The impact seems to jar something in him, because he blinks, and suddenly there are tears on his cheeks and he’s sucking in horrible, gasping sobs.

“Scott, n— _Breathe_ , hey, breathe,” Mitch says, hurrying to his side.

“Oh,” Scott hiccups, “ _oh_ , I—”

His hands are in fists on his thighs, knuckles pale, tendons straining. If he had to guess, Mitch would say he’s probably not doing it on purpose, might not even realize he’s doing it at all.

“No, no, don’t try to talk,” Mitch soothes. He risks a seat next to Scott on the bed, a little behind so he can reach Scott’s back but still close enough to see his face. “Just breathe, you’re breathing right now.”

Scott heaves another of those painful deep inhales that shake his shoulders and keen on the way out. He doesn’t try to say anything, though.

Mitch puts a hand on Scott’s back, gentle, just his fingertips at first to make sure it’s okay—Scott raises his fists to his mouth and squeezes his eyes closed, but he leans into it—then the whole of his spread hand. He doesn’t have a small hand, but it looks that way on Scott’s back.

The trembling is more obvious like this, with his hand on Scott. Mitch starts rubbing his back, little calming circles first, getting larger a bit at a time. Then long, smooth strokes up and down. He hums a little, very quietly, sits there and tries to radiate calm. Peace. Zen.

Serene, he thinks, be serene for Scott.

After a couple of minutes, it starts to feel like the shivering is lessening, like Scott’s breaths are getting a little less desperate, with each pass of Mitch’s hand over his back. Mitch slows them down, lets his humming trail off.

“Scott?” he says, barely more than a whisper.

There’s a change in the frantic rhythm of Scott’s breathing, a hitch. His head turns toward Mitch, his eyes open.

Mitch rewards him with a smile that he doesn’t let show his relief. “Hi, there,” he whispers. “You need some water? Some wine?”

Scott blinks at him, slow and thick. A second passes, then he shakes his head.

“A valium?” Mitch tries. “Xanax?”

It’s less than half a joke. Mitch doesn’t have either, but if Scott wants—

Scott shakes his head again. And, “no, I—no,” he croaks. Apparently even that was difficult, because he has to screw his eyes shut again for a moment, take another few too-fast breaths.

It’s okay, Mitch is okay. He gets it. It _is_ hard. He keeps petting over Scott’s back, starts making some more circles of his hand between Scott’s shoulder blades. Those seem like they might be working the best; his shoulders look like they might be a little looser.

“Okay,” Mitch says, mindlessly, to put his voice back out there. Fill up the silence in the room, so Scott doesn’t have to listen to the noises he’s making. “Okay, that’s okay.” He repeats it over and over, figures he’ll just keep doing it until he thinks of something better.

Scott nods along with him, for a bit. Then, there’s another little hiccup in the rhythm, and he starts shaking his head. His eyes open, fix on Mitch. They’re still—really wet. Too wide.

Mitch swallows, his throat tight and dry and thick, has to work not to throw up at the feeling. He keeps his voice level as he says, “Scott?”

“Isn’t this—Aren’t you mad?” Scott says. He’s still half-gasping the words, and at some point his hands lowered so they’re pressing against his sternum rather than his mouth, but they’re still in fists.

Mitch stares at him. The words don’t make sense, until they sink in and then—

No, they still don’t make sense.

“At, what, that you’re, you’re freaking out?” Mitch says, voice going higher without his permission. He doesn’t care. What the hell. “What the—Scott, why would I be _mad_?”

“Because you—because I—”

There’s a really ominous increase in the number of breaths Scott’s sucked in, the last couple seconds just trying to get out those four words. Mitch’s fingers do a little trembling, themselves, before he puts a some firmer pressure behind them. Maybe he can hold Scott inside himself, anchor him, so he won’t panic all over again.

“Shh. All right, hey, we’re okay. Go slow. Because, what?” Mitch prompts.

“You,” Scott says, sounds wretched. “You _know_.”

Mitch has to swallow again. “What do I know?” he asks.

It’s okay, he repeats, inside his own head. This is fine, it’s okay. It has to be okay—they can’t both lose it, or there’s no help for them, and anyway, Mitch isn’t gonna put that on Scott. Not right now, not when he’s like, like this.

“How I, ah, I feel,” Scott says.

“And that’s a, a, what, was I not supposed to know,” Mitch says. “Is this a _bad_ thing?”

He doesn’t see how it is, how it _could_ be. He’d have made that deal with the octopus witch in The Little Mermaid, for the chance to have someone tell him Scott felt the same way a week after he found out how _he_ felt.

More shaking of Scott’s head.

“You’re, you, _Mitchy_ ,” a deep, slow inhale, like maybe this one’s on purpose, “you looked so _mad_.”

Oh, oh _Scott_.

Mitch’s heart goes tight with emotion the same time it sinks a little, shamed. What did Scott _expect_ , though, really?

“Hell yes, I was mad,” Mitch says, before he can think better of it. “You only noticed _last week_ , what, were you living with your _eyes_ closed?”

Scott jerks his head back a little, looks at Mitch like Mitch just threw something at his face. “You already _knew_? You could _tell_?”

“I can’t believe you _couldn’t_ ,” Mitch retorts.

“Oh, god,” Scott says, that anxious edge back in full force. He uncurls his fists and shoves his fingertips over his eyes. “God, shit.”

With his free hand, Mitch reaches out and grabs both of Scott’s hands, pulls them away from his face. “No. No, babe,” he says, scooting closer, pressing a little harder against Scott’s back. “No, c’mon, _no_.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Scott says, under his breath. “What the _fuck_ is my life?”

He’s _still_ not trying to get away from Mitch’s touch.

“Your life is _fabulous_ , Scotty. This is not a bad thing, here, okay.”

“How is it _not_ ,” Scott groans.

Mitch arches both eyebrows way up, pointedly, but Scott doesn’t see it. He’s staring at his hands, where Mitch is still holding them, on the bedspread between their legs. There’s barely room; one of Scott’s pinky fingers is against Mitch’s thigh.

“Because I—Okay, look. Before I answer that,” Mitch says, carefully, changing course mid-word and struggling to cover, not to go too fast. “I need to know something.”

At that, Scott lifts his eyes, meets Mitch’s. He still looks miserable and scared, but in a hollow way, instead of frantic.

“You need to tell me if…” Mitch takes a deep breath. He’s fighting his first instinct, which is to come right out and tell Scott the truth, just tell him they feel the same, because it really seems like Scott might not know.

The idea seems impossible, but two hours ago, Mitch would have sworn on his favorite jacket and every pair of shoes he owns that Scott knew how _he_ felt, too. And if Scott can not know _that_ , well, maybe Mitch doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does, either.

“If what?” Scott asks, unsteadily, like he wishes he weren’t speaking at all.

“If you think maybe you’re just confused, that maybe you have feelings for me because you miss having someone.”

Scott freezes, staring at Mitch, his face stricken.

Mitch didn’t mean to make him look like that. He swallows, and goes on, “Just, because if that’s the case… we’ll just forget this happened, okay?”

Scott doesn’t look like it’s okay. Scott looks like he’s gonna start crying again, and he’s shaking his head just a tiny bit. Mitch wonders if he knows he’s doing it.

“But,” Mitch hurries to add. “If _not_ …”

Scott opens his mouth. He closes it again. Open, closed, open; he’s clearly struggling with _something_ , though Mitch hadn’t thought it was that hard a question.

He gives Scott the time to collect himself—hell, Scott probably deserves it, after the way Mitch apparently scared him busting in like that—and just sits and waits. He looks at Scott, though, because he can’t make himself stop, and he _wants_ to; puts everything he’d be saying if he wanted to be a pushy asshole right now into his face and his eyes instead.

Scott is the most important person in Mitch’s life, and Mitch isn’t walking out on him now no matter _what_ Scott’s answer is.

“What if I’m sure it’s not,” Scott finally asks, something like fear or hope or both in his eyes.

Mitch’s heart picks up speed. He has to swallow hard a couple of times.

“Then maybe this is when it happens,” he manages to croak, before too much time can pass.

“When what happens?” Scott asks.

“Us. You and me. This.”

“You’d want that?”

Like Scott doesn’t _know_ , how can he not know?

Mitch huffs a little laugh. “Yes, you giant dummy,” he says, “I’d want that.”

Scott’s eyes flutter closed for a second, and his lower lip wobbles, and he just looks so _relieved_ —Mitch has no choice. He has to do it.

He leans in, so very carefully, heart trying to beat its way out of his throat, and presses their lips together. Scott’s breath catches, Mitch can feel it, and then he’s kissing back.

It’s literally everything Mitch has ever hoped it might be—he’s convinced the only reason there aren’t actual fireworks is because it doesn’t _need_ them. It’s _perfect_.

Scott touches two shaking fingers to Mitch’s cheek, then his own, and Mitch realizes with a silly little lurch that Scott’s started _crying_.

“God, look at me,” Scott gasps, into the kiss, like he has to speak but he can’t bear to pull his mouth away from Mitch’s, “I’m a mess.”

Mitch makes himself pull back, because obviously somebody has to. He cups his hands around Scott’s face, wipes his cheeks with his thumbs.

“I am looking at you,” he whispers. “Not a mess.”

He leans up and presses a kiss to Scott’s forehead, to each of his cheeks. Scott lets out another sob and crumples forward to hide his face against Mitch’s neck, his arms going around Mitch’s shoulders and clinging.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Mitch says, petting down Scott’s back again. He drops a kiss to the top of Scott’s head, through his hair. “It’s okay, babe.”

“Sorry,” Scott mumbles into his neck. “This is _so_ not a sexy first kiss, wow—”

“Best first kiss of my life,” Mitch says. Scott tries to lift his head, and Mitch guides it back down with one hand, barely trying. “But I think right now calls for cuddling, rather than sexy kissing.”

“You do? But—”

“I’ve waited a _really_ long time to be with you,” Mitch says. “I can wait a little longer.”

“Okay,” Scott finally mumbles, “if you’re sure,” and lets Mitch maneuver them until they’re properly laying down, Mitch’s head on the pillows and Scott’s head on Mitch’s chest. He’s still trembling a little, so Mitch runs his hand through Scott’s hair. He starts humming _Halo_ , switches to singing the words softly partway through the first chorus.

The trembling has died down, so Mitch just keeps going after the song’s over.

It takes him a couple of songs to realize that Scott’s fallen asleep. He smiles into Scott’s hair, and keeps singing.

#

Mitch is in his arms when Scott wakes up, his back flush with Scott’s chest.

He must already be awake, because his fingertips are trailing back and forth over the back of Scott’s hand, where he’s got an arm draped over Mitch’s waist. It should tickle, and somewhere deep down it does, a bit, but first and foremost it feels _good_. Just the pads of Mitch’s fingers, brushing over Scott’s hand in steady, mindless little patterns. It’s just _so_ —something.

Scott’s chest aches, warm and too full.

He lets Mitch know he’s awake by tightening his hold and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

It makes Mitch let out a tiny gasp, his fingers stuttering, so he does it again.

Mitch’s fingers stop entirely, his hand moving to press flat against the back of Scott’s. He says, “Scott,” and it comes out all breathless, delicious.

That’s—Mitch likes that, and Scott knows it, of course he knows it, they’ve _talked_ about how much Mitch likes it.

The hand Scott has around him slips under his shirt so it’s touching his belly. Mitch’s muscles jump at the first touch of skin against skin, and again, when Scott starts drawing his hand in slow circles, low on Mitch’s stomach. Not quite low _enough_ , though. Scott has to force himself not to reach down and feel Mitch properly right away, not to rush.

Mitch seems to like that, too, almost as much as the mouth on the back of his neck. There’s no excuse for Scott doing that; Mitch has never told him _this_. It’s all Scott.

Mitch is making that high, sweet, happy little noise under his breath because Scott’s touching him, the way Scott _wants_ to, because they can. He feels a surge of fierce pride.

And, abruptly, it’s not what Scott wants anymore. It doesn’t feel any less good than it did a second ago, but he wants Mitch to turn around, anyway, wants him to roll over.

He wants to be kissing that mouth that’s making those noises, because now he _can_ , damn it.

He could just tip Mitch’s chin back and crane his head around, but he doesn’t want to hurt his neck—doesn’t want to hurt _Mitch’s_. He wants to stay just as comfortable as he is now, wrapped up cozy and perfect with Mitch in his arms—he just wants to be able to kiss Mitch while he is.

So he moves his lips to Mitch’s ear, whispers “Roll over,” and Mitch does. He shifts onto his other side, toward Scott, and their faces are _right there_ the way they’ve been a thousand times before.

But this time Mitch catches Scott’s mouth with his. For a moment it’s just sweet and affectionate, like it was earlier.

It’s perfect, it really is, only—Only then Scott’s tongue sweeps across Mitch’s lips, and past them, and suddenly it’s deep and hot and _filthy_.

Scott sinks into it, just, soaks it up. It’s Mitch, kissing him, it’s—Scott gets a little lost, starts to feel drugged on it, hazy. His head feels light and full of air, but his limbs feel warm and slow and _heavy_. He can feel his pulse in his toes, the pads of his fingers, pounding fast and intense. It’s worse, in all the many places they’re touching, but it’s, it’s better, too. He wants to touch Mitch _everywhere_.

He’s distracted, so that he almost doesn’t notice he’s caught Mitch’s bottom lip with his teeth and half-broken the kiss.

Mitch moans into it, and Scott—his hand is still under Mitch’s shirt, against the skin of his back—Scott tugs and sort of hitches their hips together. He didn’t really mean to, but that _sound_ and—fuck, he’s so hard, and so is Mitch.

Scott’s hand slides a little farther up Mitch’s back, without his brain really deciding that it should. It rucks up Mitch’s shirt, and Mitch gives a little gasp and shivers. Under the goosebumps, his skin is so smooth and so soft—it’s not like Scott didn’t know it would be, not like he’s never touched Mitch before. Just, never like _this_ , with Mitch’s breath in his mouth and Mitch leaning _into_ it like this.

Scott is just about to lower his mouth back to Mitch’s neck and push Mitch’s shirt up higher, when Mitch shifts back a little.

There’s a moment of instinctive panic, and Scott freezes before his brain reminds the rest of him that Mitch loves him. Mitch said he _wants_ him. He tips his head back to look at Mitch’s face.

“I don’t mean to ruin the mood,” Mitch says, quiet and just a little breathless, “but please don’t wrinkle my Saint Laurent.”

Scott just looks at him for a moment, with Mitch looking back, his face perfectly serious.

And Scott starts _laughing_ , he can’t help it, he just—Mitch is ridiculous, of _course_ he’d be worrying about his _shirt_ right now, even though he said he’d been _waiting_ —It’s absurd, it’s _Mitch_ , and Scott doesn’t understand how he could ever have not realized how he truly felt, because his heart is burning in his chest, he loves this silly man so much.

“Shut up,” Mitch says, like maybe he’s trying to sound stern or something, but he’s laughing too. He pats at Scott’s shoulders, nothing like a real push, not nearly enough to move him, until Scott loosens his grip and lets Mitch sit up.

“Seriously, though?” Scott complains, watching him. “I mean, _seriously_?” He’s pretty sure that everything he’s feeling is showing on his face, but he doesn’t care.

Then again, apparently it’s _always_ been on his face, Scott just didn’t realize it.

Mitch pauses, one arm free of his shirt, and grins down at Scott. “Don’t even front like you’re surprised,” he says.

“I want to say I can’t believe you’re stopping to take care of you clothes _now_ ,” Scott tells him, in a voice he now knows is stupidly fond, and for once he doesn’t care. “But I actually really can.”

“No, really, shut up,” Mitch orders. He glances down the length of Scott’s body, and when he meets Scott’s eyes again, his are dark and hot. “And take your shirt off.”

Scott nearly smacks himself in the face, he lifts his arms so quickly to tug it off.

When he pulls it off his head, Mitch has his shirt off, is just finishing up folding it. He smirks at Scott, and Scott swears his heart actually skips a beat in his chest.

“Are you really putting that on the nightstand,” Scott not-quite-asks, eyes glued to that all that soft skin, so much of it, over the flex of muscle as Mitch leans over to set the shirt aside.

“If you ripped it, I’d have to kill you.”

Mitch turns back to him, and Scott has a second—one impossible second that’s at once the longest thing Scott can imagine and also the shortest of his life—to worry that this, right here, is the moment it’s going to become awkward. This is when it’s going to be weird, when one of them is going to realize they can’t do this, after all. Not with each other, not after all this time, not—

Then Mitch is scooting back down and _right there_ again, somehow more perfect even than before, god, what did Scott even do to deserve this? Mitch is grinning now, all gentle, and he leans in to bump their noses together. “I like you much better alive,” he whispers.

“Good,” Scott says, amazed it comes out clearly, his throat is so thick. “I like you—better.”

Mitch’s grin does, does _something_. He kisses Scott again before Scott can figure out how to even describe it.

Scott wraps his arm back around Mitch’s waist. There’s skin against his all over now, not just under his fingers, and Scott can’t help the shudder that comes over him. Mitch hums something into the kiss, tilts his head and gets his hands in Scott’s hair.

It’s—Scott didn’t think it could be possible, but it’s _better_ than those first few kisses. Still so careful and fond it makes him _ache_ , but deeper, too. Scott tugs Mitch in close again.

He tilts his head, testing, wanting to see if it’s this good from every angle. He can’t quite trust it will be but he doesn’t see how it could _not_ be. Mitch makes another noise into the kiss, and Scott swallows it up the way he did the last one. They’re _delicious_ , the sounds Mitch keeps making.

As he eats it from of Mitch’s mouth, one of Mitch’s hands strays out of his hair, down the side of his neck. Scott feels it like an electric jolt, and shudders again. Mitch keeps moving, runs it down over Scott’s shoulder and upper arm, stroking over Scott’s skin light as a feather—Scott feels like he’s going to come out of his skin, hyperaware of every slight movement.

“Mitchy,” he gasps, just that, the only important word in his brain right now.

“Fuck,” Mitch replies in a whisper, and his hand keeps going, onto Scott’s back. “ _Scott_ , god—”

Scott didn’t know his back had that many nerve endings. He’s a half a breath away from breaking out in gooseflesh all over, but if Mitch stops touching him now, he’ll—he’ll—well, he doesn’t really know _what_ he’ll, but it won’t be pretty, anyway. He shifts so he can hide his face in Mitch’s neck, mouth a kiss against the skin there like it was only reason he moved.

Mitch doesn’t stop touching him.

He slides his hand around Scott’s arm and up again, one long, smooth stroke until his elbow is bent and he's holding on to Scott’s shoulder. His arm is hooked under Scott’s, pressed too-close to Scott’s ribs, his palm a hot, clutching pressure over Scott’s shoulder blade. His touch doesn’t feel like a feather anymore, it feels like a weight.

Scott can’t hold it back. He scrapes his teeth over Mitch’s throat, just to see.

“Oh my _god_ , Scott,” Mitch says, arching, voice climbing higher. His fingernails dig into Scott’s back, just a little, enough to feel.

Damn.

That’s— _damn_.

Scott bites him again.

Mitch’s whole body jerks, pushes into the pressure of Scott’s mouth on his neck. He makes another of those noises Scott can barely stand, says, “Fuck.” And, again, “ _Fuck_ ,” mirroring Scott’s thoughts.

Then he surges forward, there’s a thigh slotted between Scott’s, a pull on Scott’s shoulder—and Mitch is using the leverage from his grip on Scott to turn, push him slightly onto his back.

“What, Mit—”

But Mitch is still shifting around. He slides a little sideways, like he’s about to work himself on top of Scott—

God, fuck, Mitch _on top_ of him—

Mitch doesn’t roll all the way over onto him, though, stops when he’s just tilted against Scott’s side and drags a hand down Scott’s chest instead.

“Scott,” he says, his voice soft. “Can—”

“Yes,” Scott blurts, without thinking. Mitch pauses a moment, looking at him with a serious face, but that only has Scott adding, “What, yes—anything, yes.”

Mitch laughs, a tiny, soft sound. He presses a quick kiss to the corner of Scott’s mouth, then one to the edge of his cheek bone. It’s an almost unbearably gentle gesture. Scott tries to speak through his suddenly tight throat, to tell Mitch so, but just as he’s opening his mouth to do it, Mitch moves his hand again.

Moves it down.

Drags it right over Scott’s dick, molds his hand around it. Grips Scott through the thin cotton of his sweatpants.

Scott’s breathing stutters, too loud in the room, except that he can hear Mitch’s, just as loud and too fast. He arches his hips up, pushes into Mitch’s hand, and, damn, it feels so good he does it again. Mitch’s fingers curl a little tighter. He shifts his head, hides his face in Scott’s neck.

It takes Scott a second to realize that the low whining noise he hears is coming from _him_.

Scott is pretty sure there’s very little left of his brain at the moment, but the small part that remains is yelling at him right now, swinging warning bells and throwing caution flags and all sorts of things.

He is—this is— _fuck_.

“Wait,” he manages to gasp out.

But, “Please,” Mitch gasps back, face still pressed to Scott’s neck. He pulls his head back, just far enough that Scott can look at him, and his eyes are huge and dark in his flushed face. “ _Please_ ,” he repeats, like he can’t help himself, like he needs it, “pleasepleaseplease.”

It shivers through Scott, down low in his gut, because that is—is fucking _blistering_ , it's so hot.

“I,” he starts, trying to remember what he’d just been thinking, to not throw all caution to the wind. “Mitch. Is this.”

Mitch lets his grip go slack, but he doesn’t pull it away, and the rest of him doesn’t stay still. He bends his head and starts kissing his way over Scott’s chest. “Is it, what?”

“Too fast?” Scott asks.

“Not for me,” Mitch says. His teeth scrape Scott’s nipple. “Closer to too _slow_.”

Everything wary and cautious in Scott relaxes all at once, leaving him loose and eager. “Oh,” he says. “Oh—kay then.”

Mitch sucks a nipple into his mouth.

Scott groans and arches his hips up, can feel the tip of his dick escaping his waistband, and when Mitch shifts his thumb it brushes over the head, wet already. He makes a noise, a gasp, like he’s surprised not to find underwear. Then, a moan, like he’s glad he didn’t.

“Ah, shit,” Scott whines, through his teeth.

“Mmm,” Mitch hums, grazes his teeth over the nipple in his mouth.

When Mitch pushes Scott’s sweats down, his hand lands on the hot skin of Scott’s hip right away. Then his fingers find their way back to Scott’s dick, curl around him again.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Scott breathes, and almost messes up kicking his sweats all the way off.

“ _Oh_ , my god,” Mitch says, voice in his throat, all rich and hungry. His hand starts moving, jacking him off.

Scott wonders wildly if this is how he dies.

He cups his hands around the back of Mitch’s head and urges him up for more kisses, tongues sliding in time with Mitch’s hand on him. With every additional stroke, he thinks, no, this wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

The hand Mitch doesn’t have on Scott’s cock is splayed on Scott’s chest, over his heart, and that’s perfect—but he’s still wearing his jeans. They’re riding low, practically obscene with the way he’s tenting them out in front, and there’s all that skin against Scott’s.

But he’s _still_ wearing his _jeans_.

“No fair,” Scott says, turning his head just enough to free his mouth from Mitch’s. It’s close to a whine because Mitch just rubbed the pad of this thumb right up under the head of his cock. “You’re—dressed.”

“Your dick is _amazing_ ,” Mitch replies, licking at the corner of Scott’s mouth, under his chin.

“Okay,” Scott says, slams his eyes closed and sees stars because that’s the moment Mitch apparently decided to start twisting his wrist at the end of his stroke. “Okay, but. You’re still _dressed_.”

Mitch’s pace slows, but doesn’t stop all the way. His mouth is somewhere around Scott’s collarbone now, warm air gusting over Scott’s skin but no lips touching, hair tickling his nose. Scott holds in another whine and doesn’t drive his hips up into Mitch’s fist. He doesn’t want to distract Mitch.

“Who has time to worry about their clothes,” Mitch asks, presses his mouth wetly to the little divot where Scott’s collarbones meet. “Your dick is _amazing_.”

“ _You_ do,” Scott says. Opens his eyes, strokes a hand from the back of Mitch’s neck to his jaw, adds, pleading, “I want you _naked_.”

Mitch barely seems to hear him, shivers and hums a happy affirmative and makes _no_ move to take off his pants, or help Scott if he tries it.

Scott could argue, could insist. He doesn’t have the energy, or the focus to spare from how it feels to have Mitch touching him like this. He’s going to surrender on this one, just for a while, since he’s obviously not winning against Mitch’s focus. His boy is stubborn, okay.

He runs his hands down Mitch’s back, slides one of them low, because, because he can, and the way the little dimples above Mitch’s ass feel under his hand is _mesmerizing_. The tips of two fingers edge just under the waistband of Mitch’s pants.

Mitch shivers again, fingers spasming on Scott’s cock, and arches his back. Scott slides his hand a little lower, it’s only natural—Mitch’s back is curved perfectly for him to—

He stops with the tip of his middle finger just edging into Mitch’s crack. It’s not quite all the way down his pants, not properly between his cheeks. Not against his hole or anything. Not yet.

It seems like it’s enough, though.

“Fuck,” Mitch gasps. “Okay, fuck, yes. You said, naked.”

“Yeah,” Scott says, and, “ _please_.”

Mitch rolls away to wriggle out of the rest of his clothes, but he’s back before Scott has very long to miss him, completely bare now. It shouldn’t be that different, to have Mitch against him without pants when Scott was already naked, but it _is_. Scott feels Mitch’s cock slot up next to his the same time Mitch fits his mouth to Scott’s shoulder and he shudders through it, arches into it, wraps one arm around Mitch to pull him closer, closer, even though there’s nowhere closer to _be_. The other hand he sneaks between them, wraps his hand around both of them at once—it bumps into Mitch’s hand, doing the same thing.

They fumble for a second, settle with Scott’s hand around the root of them and Mitch’s on the shafts, closer to the tip, and then for a long breathless moment Scott can’t even think. He can’t do anything. It’s just—this is _Mitch_ —it feels so good.

“You’re so much _bigger_ than me,” Mitch breathes, and it doesn’t sound like he’s trying to, hah, stroke Scott’s ego; says it not like it’s a surprise, but like he _likes_ it. “Oh my god, Scott.”

“Right here,” Scott says, and he _has_ to see the face that goes along with that tone, has to. He lets go of their cocks—Mitch is doing better than he was, anyway, actually stroking instead of just holding them in the circle of his thumb and fingers and flexing his grip like some sort of amateur who’s amazed by the feel of a dick in his hand.

He reaches up, hooks his fingers under Mitch’s chin to tip his head back. His thumb brushes over Mitch’s mouth, finds it open—

Mitch makes a noise, and opens his mouth _wider_. Scott’s thumb slides almost all the way in, and Mitch’s tongue curls around it.

“Holy shit, Mitchy,” Scott breathes, twitching his thumb to feel the way it slides against Mitch’s tongue. Mitch hums, back in his throat, and it’s a good thing Scott’s not using his knees because if he were they’d’ve just given out on him. “Holy _shit_.”

He pulls his thumb out and shifts his hand, meaning to slide his first two fingers in instead. Mitch is watching him, eyes wide and dark, and just lets him. No, more than letting him—Mitch opens his mouth wider and sucks Scott’s fingers in, his wet lips clinging at Scott’s knuckles.

“You’re _killing_ me,” Scott says. He pumps his fingers in and out, just a little. Keeps it slow, shallow. He doesn’t want to choke Mitch. “Your _mouth_ , can’t believe you’re letting me—God, your fucking mouth, you have no idea, babe.”

Mitch’s eyebrow twitches up, and he sucks a little harder, like he’s saying, _oh really_ , and, _go on_.

Scott licks his own lips, stares at his fingers, disappearing between Mitch’s lips. “I stare at it, you know. A lot,” he confesses.

Mitch hums again, confirmation.

“When you’re talking, eating—when you fucking sing, oh my god, it’s so hard to look at anything _else_ ,” Scott says. He leans over, licks the corner of Mitch’s mouth, around his own fingers. “You’re incredible, I swear. So beautiful.”

Mitch makes a wild noise, sucks hard on Scott’s fingers. He puts his leg over Scott’s hips, messing up the angle of his arm but trying to hook his knee around Scott to thrust against him, and, oh, god, oh—

His tongue is moving, his lips too, like he’s trying to talk.

Scott pulls his fingers out, grabs at his ass to hitch him in tight instead—

“—you fucking asshole, staring at me,” Mitch babbles, rubbing his newly freed mouth over Scott’s cheek, missing his lips, “always always with that look on your face, how did you not _know_ —”

“I’m an idiot,” Scott agrees, kisses him again because actually, he didn’t need to hear that, and the way it makes Mitch twist in his arms has fingers sliding down Mitch’s crack again. All the way, this time, properly between his cheeks, and they’re wet, now—wet from Mitch’s _mouth_ —they actually _slide_ this time. They touch Mitch’s hole, and he makes the worst, the best noise yet.

Before Scott really knows he means to he’s pushing, pressing in with the tip of one finger, and fuck. Fuck.

“This okay?” he forces himself ask, panting, against Mitch’s mouth.

“ _Yes_ ,” Mitch gasps. “Fuck, _more_.”

What the hell is Scott supposed to say to that? He gives Mitch what he wants, always. He does now, too, sliding both fingers inside at once, a long, steady push. Mitch just opens for it, Mitch who always knows what he wants, fuck, he lets Scott’s fingers in like it’s easy.

This should maybe be weird, having his fingers inside Mitch and Mitch’s hand around them both and Mitch’s lips against his making those sounds but it’s not, it’s not at all weird, it’s the most perfect thing he’s ever felt. He starts rocking his fingers in and out, in time with Mitch’s strokes, mesmerized by the drag of Mitch’s skin against his knuckles.

It’s so good, so unbelievably hot, he’s already close—like he hasn’t been, this fast, in, fuck, in years. He could actually _come_ like this, is probably going to soon, and it shouldn’t be this hot.

He doesn’t care. It _is_.

“Close,” he mumbles to Mitch.

“Mm, me too,” Mitch mumbles back. Tightens his fingers. “Don’t stop.”

So Scott doesn’t. In fact, when Mitch’s hand starts to falter, his rhythm stuttering, Scott speeds up his own hand. He even slips in the tip of a third finger—and is blindsided by the heat when Mitch’s body accepts _that_ , too.

Scott comes first, shuddering with it, but it’s only a moment more before Mitch is joining him—sticky and warm across Scott’s stomach. His ass clenches around Scott’s fingers, and his eyes are closed—his face looks—

Mitch is literally the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Scott quakes all over.

It’s not, not exactly aftershocks from his orgasm, but there’s something that ripples through him and makes him shake, and it starts in his chest.

He stills his fingers, gasps a few more breaths. Draws them out slow. Then he leans in and gives Mitch another long, slow kiss, as sweet and perfect as he can.

After a little while, Mitch’s hand comes up, and he strokes Scott’s face, touch light and—goddamn reverent. Scott leans into it.

Then Mitch pulls back and says, as if he’s carrying on a conversation that Scott started earlier, “Do you think the hotel gift shop sells lube?”

Scott is glad Mitch took his mouth away, because he almost chokes on his own tongue. “Uh,” he says. “They. Uh.”

“Because as nice as that was, next time, I want it to be your dick inside me when I come.”

Scott’s poor exhausted dick gives a valiant twitch, and he thunks his head down against Mitch’s shoulder to hide the heat on his cheeks. He groans. “Shit,” he says. “I hope so.”

* * *

#### epilogue

Mitch is the only one of the band in the lobby when Avi arrives for their soundcheck pick up, sitting in an armchair and scrolling through what looks like Tumblr on his phone.

“Hey,” Avi says, sitting down on one of the armrests. “Where’d you disappear to last night?”

Mitch looks up at him, eyes wide. Avi raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, um. Yeah, I ended up just ordering room service and going to bed,” Mitch says, in a _very_ vague, airy tone. ”Kevin didn’t tell you?”

“To be honest, I was so hungry I wasn’t really paying—” Avi cuts off, blinking at Mitch, who looks back at him, placid and innocent except for his wide eyes and— _that_. “—attention,” he finishes, trying his best to not look like he’s staring at the hickey just above Mitch’s collar. The very noticeable, very _wasn’t there yesterday_ hickey.

Oh, great. This is really going to help make the atmosphere on this tour _less_ awkward.

Not.

“Wow, you must have really missed my presence,” Mitch says, drily, eyes returning to his screen just as Avi spots Kirstie exiting one of the elevators across the room.

“Be right back,” he says, getting up and trying to signal to Kirstie to stay on the other side of the room as he hurries toward her. She gives him a leery look, but she stops and waits for him.

“Morning,” he greets once he reaches her. “I need your help.”

She stares at him. “If this is about your love life, _talk to someone else_.”

“What? No.” He frowns. “Why would it—no. We need a distraction for Scott when he arrives.” Her eyebrows disappear under her bangs. “That, or you need to convince Mitch to cover up the _enormous hickey_ he’s sporting.”

Kirstie just blinks at him before glancing over his shoulder to where Mitch is still engrossed in his phone. “Huh,” she says.

“It’s not exactly gonna help Scott snap out of whatever’s bothering him,” Avi continues, watching her watch Mitch. “And I don’t know about _you_ , but I’m really ready for things to go back to normal, so _please_ just help me come up with a plan before he sees it?”

“Before who sees what?” Kevin asks, appearing out of the elevator behind them. “Why are we standing over here whispering?”

“Mitchell has a _hickey_ ,” Kirstie says, still not taking her eyes off Mitch. “And Avi’s worried Scott’s gonna find out.”

Kevin makes an odd, throaty noise, half laugh, half cough. “Bet you five bucks he already knows,” he says, not missing a beat, and Avi’s just about to ask what _that_ means when the front doors of the hotel slide open and Scott and Esther enter the lobby, both carrying Starbucks.

Esther starts towards them, carrying a tray with four cups that are probably for the three of them and herself, which means that one of the cups Scott is holding is for—oh, _no_.

There is no way Scott won’t notice. He’ll notice, and he’ll be even more sad, _again_ , and it will be yet another day of being around the human equivalent of a kicked puppy, which is just… depressing.

Except—

For the first time in a week, Scott doesn’t look sad. In fact, he’s practically beaming, almost skipping on his way over to Mitch, who—whoa, who _slips his phone into his pocket_ and rises the second he looks up and sees who’s approaching, a smile spreading across his face.

“Aw,” Kirstie and Kevin say in unison, causing Esther to follow their gazes and _smile_ , and Avi’s just about to ask what that is all about when Scott comes to a stop in front of Mitch. He holds one of the Starbucks cups up over his own head, grinning brightly down at him. 

“Trade you,” Scott says, his voice carrying all the way over to where the four of them are standing. 

Mitch glances up at the cup and says something. It’s so quiet that Avi can’t make it out from this distance. Mitch is smiling, though, very very widely—as is Scott, who says something in response in a similarly lowered volume. And then, while Avi’s still trying to figure out _why_ Scott isn’t _noticing_ , Mitch is reaching up and tugging on Scott’s lapels and pulling his face down toward his own, and—

Oh.

 _Oh_ , okay, yeah. Kevin is probably right about Scott already knowing.


End file.
